Abigail Moore

“Sometimes I would like to be a child again, and other times a woman made of snow.”
― Deirdre Sullivan, Tangleweed and Brine

“A tangle of star jasmine spilled across the path and Alice knelt to pluck a sprig, holding it beneath her nose and breathing in the scent of captured sunshine. On a whim, she unlaced her shoes. A delicate iron chair stood in a nook beside the camellia, and she sat, slipping her feet free and peeling off her socks, wiggling her toes in the surprise of the balmy air. A late butterfly hovered at a nearby rosebush, and Alice thought, as always, of her father.”
― Kate Morton, The Lake House

“Sometimes he felt his loneliness. But these moments of solitude and loneliness gave meaning to his existence. He would keep drifting from moment to moment - inhaling the fragrances of these moments like one inhaled from the flowers in a garden!”
― Avijeet Das

“Look, Miss!” I exclaimed, pointing to a nook under the roots of one twisted tree. “Winter is not here yet. There’s a little flower up yonder, the last bud from the multitude of bluebells that clouded those turf steps in July with a lilac mist. Will you clamber up, and pluck it to show to papa?” Cathy stared a long time at the lonely blossom trembling in its earthy shelter, and replied, at length—“No, I’ll not touch it: but it looks melancholy, does it not, Ellen?” “Yes,” I”
― Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights